To Just Stay Alive
by danniperson
Summary: Harry doesn't want to be strong anymore, but he has to be.


**TO JUST STAY ALIVE**

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The first taste of firewhiskey was the worst. It had well earned its name, the way it burned down your throat, much akin to the feeling of swallowing fire. Harry Potter coughed and choked his way through the first several sips, forcing himself to plow through the pain it brought, hoping to find a drunken state of oblivion before too long.

Ron had managed to get one of his brothers to get him a few bottles of firewhiskey, one he sent off to Harry, who was taking full advantage of the gift now. He sat on the floor of the kitchen at Number 4 Privet Drive. It was just as pristine and perfect as ever, he thought bitterly. It was as though nothing had ever happened…Not one thing in the whole house was out of place, per Aunt Petunia's usual expectations. There was not one speck on anything, not one slight imperfection to Aunt Petunia's eyes. The only thing wrong with the house were its now dead inhabitants lying about. Uncle Vernon laying out in front of the still open front door, like a large, fat welcome mat. Dudley sat limp against the living room wall, eyes wide open and lifeless. Aunt Petunia was laying facedown, halfway down her own staircase.

They had never been a great family to him, but Harry couldn't help but feel some pain and loss by their deaths. Dudley had just thanked him for saving him from the Dementors and wished him luck when the Death Eaters came. Uncle Vernon had tried to run for the door while his wife went on to protect her son and after his death, tried to defend her nephew. Harry fought them off the best he could…There had only been two of them. Harry killed one of them while his family fought for their lives, and he hadn't been able to save them. The other Death Eater, Harry killed shortly after Aunt Petunia's death and Harry hid their bodies in the old cupboard under the stairs, not wanting to look at them. He hadn't had the strength to deal with his family's bodies and instead had taken to hiding from the scene in the kitchen.

So many people had died for him and so many were out there still dying. His parents had died, Sirius had died…Remus had recently died. Molly Weasley had died. The Dursleys were now dead. Most had died heroes. They were brave. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Gryffindor, was hiding away in his misery, getting drunk instead of going out there to fight with the rest of them. Voldemort wanted him…He was at Hogwarts, battling teachers and students and anyone else who would join while he sent his Death Eaters to retrieve Harry. He had to go…Offer himself up to save the rest. But what if there was no one left to save? How could Harry's death even stop him? How could Harry stop him? Screw the prophecy! He was seventeen! He couldn't do this. He couldn't save Sirius or Remus or Molly or even the Dursleys. How was he supposed to save the world?

He barley noticed anything once the burn stopped. It hardly felt like any time at all the time it was gone and Harry frowned and tipped the bottle over and leaned his head back, letting every last drop fall into his open mouth. Once it was all gone he set the bottle aside and looked around the kitchen, wondering if Uncle Vernon kept a liquor cabinet and wondering where it might be. Nothing would be as good as firewhiskey, especially not any Muggle drinks. Anything would do, though. He wasn't nearly drunk enough.

Harry froze at the pop of Apparation and slowly looked up at the tall, imposing form of Severus Snape. The man glowered at him as he slowly walked forward. Harry shifted uncomfortably and turned his eyes down to his empty bottle. "Having a pity party, Potter? You know that is not a literal party, don't you? Then again, you never were that bright."

"I'm well aware of your opinions of my intelligence, thanks," Harry muttered bitterly. "I don't think it's any of your business, anyway."

"What you do is everyone's business, whether you like it or not," Snape growled, reaching down to grip his arm and yank him to his feet. Harry stumbled and gripped the counter, glaring at Snape. "Do you think anyone can rely on a self-pitying, drunken fool to rid us of the Dark Lord?"

"It's not my responsibility! Let someone else do it!" Harry said in frustration. He winced at a pain in his head, though he wasn't sure if it was his scar burning or his head throbbing from the alcohol.

Snape glared dangerously at him. "Do you think anyone else can, Potter? You're the Chosen One, remember?" he asked with a cruel smirk. "It's up to you, Potter, as loathe as I am to admit it. You're the one the Prophecy chose! You're the one the Dark Lord chose! You're the one everyone chose! No one else can or will do it! It's up to you. You don't have to like it, but you do have to go out there. What happened to your Gryffindor bravery?"

"Everyone's dead…or dying…anyway," Harry croaked out. "I can't do this! I couldn't save any of them! Ho-"

"If only I had a time turner. I could have saved Lily the trouble," Snape muttered. "Did they all die in vain, Potter? At least try! At least give the same effort they gave for you! I have not been fighting and risking my life for years to protect you and train you and keep an eye on the Dark Lord just so you can give up and hand him the world on a silver platter! Get off your arse and get out onto the battlefield! Now!"

Snape was breathing raggedly and Harry just stood there, staring at the floor, letting his words sink in. He felt bad…But he didn't know if he could do it. His friends were all out there…All of his loved ones out there, holding onto their hope and faith in him to save them. Fighting for what was right while he sat here, giving up entirely. It was wrong, but Harry couldn't figure out how to pull himself out of this state. "I love you," Harry whispered.

"I know," Snape said grudgingly. "Come along and stop acting immature."

"Kiss me."

"Potter…"

Harry had loved Snape for a while now. They had been training for two years now. He had been there every time Snape was called to Voldemort. He had learned more about the man. And he was in love with him. He didn't want everyone to have died in vain and he certainly didn't want everything Snape had done for him to be in vain. But he didn't want to die without telling Snape and without one last good memory to go to the war with. Harry licked his lips and turned his emerald eyes to the man's outraged black eyes. Maybe it was wrong, but if he was going to die…He needed something, didn't he? If he was going to die to save the world, the least he should get is a kiss from the man he loved.

"Kiss me and I'll go," Harry said calmly, more confidently than before.

"You will stay alive and you will kill him and you will fight. You will give it everything you have Potter!" Snape growled.

"As long as you kiss me," Harry agreed.

Snape muttered under his breath before grabbing Harry and pulling him close, lowering his lips and kissing him deeply. It was more than Harry had hoped for…A long, passionate kiss and Harry held onto the man tightly, holding himself close and cherishing every last moment of this. It was longer than Harry had imagined, but it still ended too soon. He frowned as Snape pulled away and Apparated them onto the battlefield.

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**Author's Note: **Okay so this is a story in a series I wrote years ago under my old penname, Kirraluv. I've decided to revise all of the stories I wrote on that account so this is the start! Please review and let me know how I'm doing with it!

Unlike the rest of my stories on this account are or will be, the titles of the stories in this series are not named after song titles, but they are all song lyrics from the song "Never Too Late" by Three Days Grace.


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